


This Side of Paradise

by Reminscees



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Cold War, Confessions, Diplomacy, M/M, Politics, Possessive Sex, Post-World War II, The 'Everyone has issues' Cold War fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-01
Updated: 2015-05-01
Packaged: 2018-03-26 15:31:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3855814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reminscees/pseuds/Reminscees
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"'Tell me that you love me.' Alfred repeated.<br/>Arthur fixated his jaw and stared at him in confusion.<br/>'What?' He asked sharply, 'What’s that got to do with anything-'<br/>'It has everything to do with this.' Alfred hissed, tightening his hold on Arthur’s hands.<br/>'You love me, right?' Alfred asked harshly, 'Tell me you love me.'"</p>
<p>England was offered paradise from the palm of America's hand. He never knew it had two sides.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Side of Paradise

This Side of Paradise

Alfred came with a groan and a final thrust towards Arthur, his head buried in his collar bone, biting it and licking it roughly. Arthur moaned, and after he pulled away, Alfred fell down next to him, mattress bending as he did so. Before Alfred could reach towards him and hold him, Arthur leaned away out of the bed and searched for Alfred’s carton of cigarettes in his bomber jacket, askew on the floor. Alfred watched the muscles in his back move, scarred and smooth and slim and pale. His neck was pale, too. In the light, it looked like a sleek slice of marble.

Alfred moved towards him, sheet falling down as he wrapping his arms around Arthur’s torso, dragging his lips over Arthur’s shoulder blades as he persistently scrambled around Alfred’s jacket. After a moment, he sat up once more, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. The smoke flew up into the air, creating strange patterns in the dim light.

Alfred rested his head on Arthur’s shoulder, and looked up at him smugly. Arthur frowned and inhaled the smoke before handing it to Alfred, who took in gratuitously. Their fingers touched briefly, and his skin was hot with want, his eyes glazed over. Cigarette between his fingers, he blew the smoke out of his nose with a certain expertise and false maturity before thrusting his chin up towards Arthur and leaning for a kiss.

He tasted Arthur’s sweaty palm instead, pushing him away.

“No,” Arthur said, stealing the cigarette and inhaling it.

“Don't do that.” Arthur clarified, looking straight ahead and ignoring Alfred.

Alfred laughed coldly.

“All right,” He said, “Then turn around.”

“Don’t tell me what to do, you pig.” Arthur turned his head away from him, sitting on the edge of the mattress and running a hand through his hair, tracing his jaw and face. Alfred licked his lips.

“‘Capitalist’,” Alfred corrected, and Arthur looked at him over his shoulder, “The whole phrase is ‘capitalist pig’.”

Alfred scratched his teeth over Arthur’s back as Arthur smoked the cigarette, idly hanging it from in between his lips as Alfred lapped at the span of freckles and scars on Arthur’s skin, salty and warm. He smoothed his tongue over the bite marks, rectangular and red and purple, that he had left there earlier. Alfred reached out and steadied Arthur’s hips, shifting so that he is balancing on his knees behind him, and Arthur turned his head, slowly, the taste of the cigarette on his lips, Alfred could feel it in the short distance between their faces. The fabric of the bed sheets was the only noise in the hotel room, along with the steady rush of blood flowing into Alfred’s ears and creating a hymning-like rhythm along with his rapid heartbeat. Alfred moaned into Arthur’s neck, his breath hot and heavy on his skin as he buried his face into it. Arthur gasped, but swallowed the noise as Alfred’s palms, slightly sweaty, gripped harder onto Arthur’s hipbones, leaving bruises on the pale skin.

He swiped his thumbs across the skin, gently this time.

He swore he felt Arthur lean towards the touch.

:::

Arthur ran a hand through Alfred’s hair as Alfred rested his forehead against his, eyes closed and fluttering, breath moist and hot in the cramped space, Arthur’s head against the wall, crowded by Alfred’s towering figure.

He could feel Alfred’s rapid heartbeat.

Arthur looked at him, not with any silly, romantic expression, or even lust, he merely observed him. Arthur was good at that, at observing others and searching for answers within them, answers on how to destroy them and break them. Arthur swallowed thickly as Alfred’s glasses embedded themselves into his pale cheek, surely leaving a mark. He felt shaky and firm and warm, large palms grasp onto his face, roughly and quickly, Alfred’s breath heavy on Arthur’s lips.

With a noise that reminds Arthur of a drowning man’s groan, a praying man’s last wish before purgatory, a dying man’s last sob, Alfred finishes, and Arthur watches his face as he does in the darkness. It scrunched up and coiled in an entirely unattractive matter, his muscles tensing and grounding his teeth, yet Arthur cannot stop himself from carding his hands through Alfred’s hair once more.

Alfred sighed, and Arthur could feel the exhale on his lips. They locked eyes for a long moment before Alfred licked his lips, pulled away, and fixed his hair. Arthur straightened his tie, staring at Alfred as he did so.

Alfred coughed into his fist.

“I hope you left marks.” He said with a smug smile, sticking a hand into his pocket.

Arthur scoffed.

“Hey,” Alfred said, moving towards Arthur, backing him up against the wall once more. He hit the back of his head against it.

“Is it that bad I want the others to know you’re mine?” Alfred asked, leaning into him.

Arthur swallowed and directed his gaze to a point somewhere left of Alfred’s right ear.

“Don’t be a fool.” He said, and pushed him away, walking two quick steps before he felt Alfred grab his wrist.

Arthur stopped.

He smiled sharply at the floor.

Alfred twisted his fingers into Arthur’s skin. It burned and it stung.

 “You’re mine,” Alfred said slowly and calculatedly, “And if you leave me, I’d kill you.”

Arthur lifted his head to stare straight ahead.

“I’d kill you, Arthur,” Alfred laughed coldly, “You know I can.”

He did not even turn to look at Alfred.

“Probably turns you on, too, you pervert.” Alfred said loudly, “Knowing that I’m a goddamn superpower.”

Arthur wretched his hand free and left.

:::

After the next Security Council meeting, Arthur is pushed into Alfred’s car and driven to his New York apartment, sleek and modern and bright, shining in the same way Alfred’s lovely, golden hair and damnably charming smile were bright, too.

Alfred’s grip was too tight as he pushed Arthur against the wall, and Arthur grasped at him, too, breath shallow and Alfred bit into his neck and his shoulder, leaving marks. He pulled Alfred’s hair, running his hands across his broad torso, pulling his suit jacket off. Alfred nudged his nose awkwardly into Arthur’s cheek and bit over his jaw.

Arthur felt a shaky breath over his lips. His eyes flew open quickly, staring into Alfred’s own behind the thick lenses of his glasses. Alfred stopped his hands. He stopped breathing, too. Arthur could feel it, along with his fluttering pulse.

Arthur swallowed thickly. He frowned at Alfred and scratched at his scalp.

“Fuck me.” Arthur said hoarsely, and Alfred nodded hastily, pulling at Arthur’s trousers. Arthur led his head bang against the wall as Alfred stared at him. Arthur jutting his chin up at him, hissing as Alfred wrapped a hand around cock.

Arthur audibly hissed. His head fell forward, his fringe brushing against Alfred’s chest and covering his eyes.

Alfred ran his thumb over the head of his cock, and Arthur grabbed hold of Alfred, tightly, it would surely leave a bruise on his shoulders. He pushed his hips forward, straining on his toes, bare and cold against Alfred’s hardwood floor. His eyes closed, and Alfred moved faster and tighter and harder, staring deep into Arthur as his mouth drops open and his brows draw down.

Arthur opened his eyes, fluttering, slowly, and Alfred watched him drop to his knees, taking Alfred into his mouth, sucking him hard and fast.

Perhaps it was all a distraction.

Alfred braced himself against the wall, swearing under his breath as he tangled his fingers in Arthur’s hair, no longer parted neatly, and pulled. His hips jerked forward, and Arthur glared up at him as Alfred felt his cock touch the back of Arthur’s throat.

He finished with a shout and a loud groan, his muscles shaking.

Arthur stood up, wiping his mouth and swallowing, there was no other option of disposal in Alfred’s corridor, and frowned at Alfred, tilting his head slightly in a way that made Alfred feel as though Arthur was unravelling himself for him, shedding his coated words and careful protection around his emotions.

He was blossoming like a flower in front of him.

Arthur quickly turned his head before Alfred could say anything, sniffed distantly and muttering something about needing a drink. His cheeks were still flushed.

“Francis has been breathing down my neck about your resolution today,” Arthur said as he moved towards Alfred’s living room. Alfred walked towards him, hesitantly, and he watched Arthur pour himself a drink.

“Huh,” Alfred muttered as he flopped down on his sofa, grey and square.

Arthur nodded and sat down next to him, resting an arm on the back of it, looking at his lazily as he drowned his drink.

Alfred swallowed thickly.

He wanted to kiss him so badly it hurt and ached.

“We should have a P-5 tomorrow in the morning,” Arthur continued, “Perhaps then he won’t VETO it.”

“Why would he VETO it?” Alfred asked curiously.

Arthur shrugged and put down his glass onto the table.

His shoulders were a fraction more relaxed now, and the flush of his cheeks nearly disappeared.

“What’s the point? Ivan will probably kill it no matter what.” Alfred sighed, “Damn Commie bastard.”

“If he does,” Alfred continued, shifting and looking down to his feet, “I’ll fight him.”

Arthur gave him a grave look.

“Gotta teach ‘em a lesson.” Alfred laughed coldly once more, staring up at Arthur.

After a moment of silence, Arthur drowned his drink and stood up.

“Well, that’s that.” He said, “I should get back to the Embassy.”

Alfred nodded.

“Yeah, yeah,” Alfred replied, walking with him to the door, loosening his tie and fixing his hair, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yes,” Arthur sighed, and opened the front door.

Alfred said him name once more, he doesn’t remember why, he just did, and Arthur stopped, watching Alfred over his shoulder in the dark light. He had strange shadows on his face, and he could see fear in his eyes again, it was misplaced and uncertain and unknown.

It was as though Arthur was not sure what he should be afraid of.

“You could stay.” Alfred said, a little too loudly.

Arthur stared at him.

He doesn’t breathe.

“It’s best if I don’t,” He said hesitantly.

“Okay.” Alfred replied, standing awkwardly beside his doorframe.

After a moment, Arthur opened his mouth once or twice, no words coming out.

Alfred looked into his eyes. They were dark.

He turned around and slammed the door before he could hear Arthur’s sentence of surrender.

:::

During the meeting, Arthur felt Alfred’s eyes on him constantly, it was as though Alfred was frightened Arthur could vanish if he did not keep watch. The moment Arthur would in turn look at him, Alfred merely smiled, reeking of sunshine and Hollywood and money and _power_. It was silent and ever-present, brooding.

Alfred did not have a chance to approach him before he slipped away to the Embassy after the meeting. Paperwork and business, most likely.

Alfred waited in his apartment for a sign, a sign from God and a sign from Arthur, a visit, a phone call, anything. It never came, even after the sun set and the stars shone over the city.

At the Embassy, Alfred knocked on the door, and he didn’t even wait for permission. He opened it, loudly and with too much strength. Arthur sat on the edge of the bed, his suit jacket off, shining one of his shoes, in preparation for tomorrow, perhaps. His hair was damp at the ends.

Arthur stared at him coldly.

Alfred shut the door loudly.

“Are you all right?” Alfred began, his voice loud, too.  

Arthur flickered his eyes to him.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” He asked, standing up and placing the shoe in a corner next to its counterpart.

“’S just,” Alfred swallowed thickly as Arthur moved towards him, “Usually you find me after a meeting.”

“Oh, dear,” Arthur smiled sharply, his eyes glinting strangely in the dim lighting of the room, “Does the great and powerful _superpower_ need help getting off?”

Alfred inhaled a sharp breath.

“Come here.” He said, his voice firm.

Arthur does not move.

“Is that a request,” He said coyly, “Or a command?”

“You know damn well I don’t ask for permission.”

Arthur’s jaw twitched, and he moved towards him. Their faces were mere inches apart.

“Why are you here?” He asked.

“I don’t know,” Alfred said earnestly, “I honestly don’t know.”

Arthur licked his lips and nodded.

“Maybe I missed you,” Alfred sighed, his tone casual and he stuck his hands inside his bomber jacket, “So what? Who cares?” Alfred laughed hollowly.

“I do.” Arthur replied, a little too quickly.

Alfred inhaled a sharp breath.

Arthur went rigid.

After a moment, Alfred reached out to touch Arthur’s wrist, gently, as though he wanted to control him, to ground him.

“Did you miss me?” Alfred asked slowly.

Arthur curled his lips in distaste.

“Did you... _think_ about me?” Alfred leered.

“Don’t talk such rot.” Arthur said, and started to pull away from Alfred. Alfred tightened his grip, and Arthur looks surprisingly vulnerable and concerned, cornered, too.

“Arthur,” Alfred said slowly, hissing each word, “Tell me what the _fuck_ is going on.”

Arthur tried to wretch free once more, but Alfred still did not budge, he could feel Arthur’s skin twist painfully under his hand and redden.  

Arthur was trapped.

It must have been terrifying.

“Do you not want me?” Alfred asked.

“I... Don’t be an idiot, Alfred-” Arthur began.

“Do you?” Alfred questioned once more, his voice louder this time.

Arthur did not wince.

He did not even blink.

“Of course I want you,” Arthur said slowly, “I’ll always want you.”

He stopped struggling at this point.

Alfred did not let go.

He inhaled a shaky breath.

“Then why can’t I kiss you?” Alfred asked loudly, “Why can’t I hold your hand? _Why_?”

Arthur stared down at his wrist.

It felt numb from Alfred’s hold.

“I just don’t get you,” Alfred shouted, “I don’t fucking get you! What do you want from me, Arthur?”

Arthur’s mouth opened, no sound came out. He shut it quickly.

He tested Alfred’s grip once more, with more force, but Alfred was stronger, he pulled him closer instead, huffing out of his nose loudly, his chest heaving, Arthur could feel it- They were pressed together. He felt as though he was suffocating.

There was nowhere to go, nothing else to look at other than Alfred.

“I told you I'd figure this out,” Alfred began, looking at Arthur with a stern expression, “I told you I’d figure _you_ out.”

His breath is rushed.

“I promised you I would,” Alfred inched closer to him, “And I haven't yet so you can't leave until I do, you got that?”

Arthur stared at his chest.

Slowly, he relaxed his shoulders and let his head hang numbly.

“Let go of me, Alfred.” He said, calmly.

Alfred did not follow his command. Instead, he leaned towards him once more.

“What are you so afraid of?” Alfred asked, voice pleading and rough with desperation.

Arthur lifted his head up quickly, locking eyes with Alfred.

“Why don’t you let me love you, Arthur?”

Arthur was not breathing.

“I told you, this isn’t... We’re not...” He stammers.

“Even if we aren’t, it doesn’t make this any less real, you know.” Alfred frowned at him. Arthur could feel his breath on his cheeks and lips.

His wrist stung.

“My arm hurts.” Arthur clarified.

Alfred loosened his grip, staring down at his feet, as though embarrassed.

He did not let go.

“I’m sorry.” Alfred said.

 “I’m sorry, okay?” He repeated, louder this time, “I love you.”

Arthur turned rigid.

“I love you, Arthur.” Alfred tightened his hold again, “I fucking love you, and I can’t ignore it. It hurts. It hurts so damn much.” His eyes stung. Arthur could see them water.

Alfred raised Arthur’s wrist to his chest, forcefully and quickly.

“Do you feel that?” He holds Arthur’s hand to his chest. Arthur could feel the rapid rhythm of his heart.

“You make it do that,” Alfred said, “No one else.”

Arthur tore his gaze from Alfred’s chest to his face, searching for an answer. Alfred merely gazed back.

He wanted to scream. His eyebrows slanted upwards and his eyes stung as he searched for words, but mere vowels and broken consonants come out of his mouth. He inched towards Alfred, slowly, and then all at once.

Alfred stared.

Arthur watched him look at him.

“Fuck you.” Arthur breathed out hoarsely, and he was mere inches away at this point from him. He tilted his head towards him, just slightly, and Alfred’s breath audibly hitched in his throat. Arthur licked his lips.

Alfred let out a noise between a groan, a sob, and a moan, in one breath, before leaning over and kissing Arthur, short and quick, his lips lingering before he pulled back. Arthur’s wrist was still tightly held in his hand, and he used it to anchor himself. After a moment, he loosened it.

Arthur did not pull away.

Instead, Arthur pulled Alfred _towards_ him, firmly, wrapping his arms around broad shoulders, feeling his muscles contract from under his shirt. Arthur pressed closer to Alfred, his lips were chapped and he tasted sweet, too sweet, and he kissed sweetly too, so soft and chaste it hurt. Arthur carded a hand through Alfred’s hair. His glasses inched painfully into Arthur’s cheek as he felt a hand rise and caress his face, as though memorising it, a callused thumb swiping some of the droplets away. Arthur breathed over his lips, angling his head to open his mouth, his tongue searching and tasting, teeth biting.

Arthur nipped at Alfred’s lip, and he groaned, in pain or adoration or lust, it was hard to tell, even as Alfred ran a hand up and down Arthur’s back, pushing him towards him, chests flush and hips fitting into one another almost too well. Arthur soothed his tongue over the broken skin of Alfred’s lips, shining and wet from Arthur’s own and the rain. Alfred awkwardly nudged his nose into Arthur’s cheek, as though he was inhaling him, and Arthur moved to suck a mark into his jaw, before guiding himself to bite and kiss at a stop behind Alfred’s ear, just below it. Alfred groaned and gripped at Arthur’s hips.

Arthur stopped moving and leaned back, grabbing Alfred’s hands and rubbing at his pulse point. He slowly raised his head to look up at Alfred, barely blushing when he saw him staring at him. His glasses were askew.

Arthur wasn’t smiling.

He stared at him for a long while before he arched towards him once more, inhaling him and holding his hair tightly.

“Hey,” Alfred said, “Say something.”

Arthur stilled.

There was a red mark on his wrist, most likely a bruise.

Arthur pulled at Alfred’s shirt, fingers hot, his skin burning at every touch.

“Come on,” Arthur said quickly, “Get this off.”

Alfred grabbed Arthur’s hands, gently. He felt them shake.

“No,” He said.

Arthur swallowed.

“What?” He asked.

“I said ‘no’.” Alfred said, “Say that you love me.”

Arthur stopped breathing.

“Tell me that you love me.” Alfred repeated.

Arthur fixated his jaw and stared at him in confusion.

“What?” He asked sharply, “What’s that got to do with anything-”

“It has _everything_ to do with this.” Alfred hissed, tightening his hold on Arthur’s hands.

“You love me, right?” Alfred asked harshly, “You love me.”

“I...” Arthur breathed, “Alfred...”

“Come on.”

Arthur put his nose to the nape of Alfred’s neck, inhaling his scent. He could feel Alfred’s nails prick his skin.

“I love you.” Arthur said, his eyes tightly shut.

The words burned and hurt.

:::

That night, Alfred slipped his fingers in one by one. Arthur anchored himself with a hand on Alfred’s arm, leaving marks as his nails inked his skin.

It wasn’t rushed in a closet or ridden with splinters against ammunition crates or in the bathroom of a conference building.

It was slow and calculated.

Alfred could hear Arthur’s harsh breathing, and felt Arthur’s twitch each time his fingers curled inside of him.

_It hurt-_

He lifted Arthur’s leg up when he entered him, slowly, using it for leverage to drive himself deeper.

_It ached-_

Arthur moaned at the pressure, and pushed further back into it. He gripped the sheets-

“I can't see you,” He said, voice cracking.

_It burned._

“Do you want to see me?” Alfred asked after a moment.

Arthur did not answer him.

“It makes you cry.” Alfred continued quietly.

“That’s not... That’s not why...” Arthur began, “Alfred...”

He inhaled a shaky breath.

“You’re lovely to look at.” Arthur turned around to face him, and rested a hand on either side of Alfred’s face.

“Alfred,” He repeated, “You’re very lovely to look at.”

Alfred swallowed thickly. Arthur could see his Adam’s apple bop in his throat.

Alfred nods hastily and moves, burying his face in the juncture of Arthur’s neck and shoulder as he begins to move.

Arthur groaned in his throat. Alfred could feel it.

Alfred flattened his hand against Arthur’s chest, pale and sweaty and hot, feeling the rapid beat of his heart, knowing that Arthur is his.

_His_.

Arthur made a desperate sound in his throat, a mixture between a moan and sob, almost girlish if it wouldn’t have been low and rough.

“Harder,” Arthur commanded, “Just- _shit_ \- Come on. Harder, damn it.”

Arthur’s body bowed towards him, and Alfred mouthed wetly at his neck, licking it and biting it and kissing it.

Alfred stopped to look at him once more.

“It's okay,” Alfred said, breathing against Arthur’s lips, “It's okay to be afraid.”

Arthur jerked against him, gasping, before letting out yet another sob-like sound. He gripped Alfred’s hand as though he wanted to break it.

Alfred would let him.

He fucked him harder, the weight and force of his body pushing Arthur down deeper into the mattress, moving until the friction sends Arthur over the edge and into orgasm, and even after that, he keeps moving.

“I love you,” Alfred breathed over Arthur’s limp mouth.

A litany of broken curses and over sensitized moans result, perhaps it was all fake, all show.

Alfred fucked him until he finished, until he himself was soft and boneless. He fell against Arthur, numbly, feeling Arthur’s chest rise quickly with exhaustion.

His cheeks and neck were red and his hair was matted to his forehead.

“I’m not afraid.” Arthur finally answered, “Why would I be afraid?”

Alfred adjusted the sheets loudly and grabbed Arthur before he could leave, pulling him to his chest, one arm slung over his back, dotted with marks.

Arthur merely breathed shallowly.

“Stay,” Alfred said, burying his face into Arthur’s neck.

Arthur scoffed.

“It's my bed,” Arthur laughed coldly, “Where can I go?”

“Then it’s even more convenient.” Alfred smiled.

Arthur shifted against him.

“Just stay with me,” Alfred continued, “Just this once.”

 “You, know,” Alfred said after a beat, “Everything will work out.”

“I shouldn’t stay.” Arthur replied. He tucked himself closer to Alfred. Their legs tangled under the covers.

“No,” Alfred answered, “I guess you shouldn’t.”

He doesn’t move.

Arthur stared into the darkness. He could hear Alfred’s heart beat steadily, matching his own.

“Trust me,” Alfred repeated, breath hot against his back, “Everything will work out.”

 “I trust you.”


End file.
